


Anne-bassador between Master Marcy and Commander Sasha

by viridiangold



Category: Amphibia (Cartoon)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blindfolds, Bondage, Character Development, Character Study, Choking, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, First Time, Kinky, Multi, Objectification, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Possessive Sex, Praise Kink, Rape/Non-con Elements, Revenge Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Shower Sex, Somnophilia, War, degradation kink, the entire thing is basically just very long and smutty polyamory negotiations, they are 18
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:33:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26163454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viridiangold/pseuds/viridiangold
Summary: “For frog’s sake, Sash, Marce, you’re both eighteen fucking years old and fighting a fantasy world war! Stop being immature and trying to kill each other! Come on… we’re adults now. Can’t we solve this in a mature way?”Sasha laughs maniacally. “What could be more mature than war?”“Sex,” Marcy answers promptly and matter-of-factly.ORMarcy and Sasha have a sex competition. Anne is... their object of measurement and impartial judge. How DOES one figure out the winner of a sex competition, anyway?
Relationships: Anne Boonchuy/Marcy Wu, Anne Boonchuy/Sasha Waybright, Anne Boonchuy/Sasha Waybright/Marcy Wu, Sasha Waybright/Marcy Wu, slowburn sasharcy
Comments: 48
Kudos: 244





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: There's a lot of.... stuff in this fic. It's meant to be slightly humorous and highly unrealistic. I don't support ANY of this happening irl (especially with the tag "Bad BDSM Etiquette" in there).

Five years after three human girls crash-landed in various parts of Amphibia, things have changed. The newts and toads are grappling for control of Amphibia, led by Master Marcy and Commander Sasha, respectively. It’s kind of all boiled down to a fight between those two. Meanwhile, the frog villages are all either split between the conflict or in hiding. Anne Plantar is known as the local cryptid who shows up at every single Marcy/Sasha confrontation to plead for peace and throw herself bodily between them. 

“For frog’s sake, Sash, Marce, you’re both eighteen fucking years old and fighting a fantasy world war! Stop being immature and trying to kill each other!”

Sasha shoves her to the ground. “Anne, do you have to spoil every single battle?”

Marcy and Sasha prowl around in a circle with Anne on the ground between them. Sasha breathes heavily, beads of sweat running down the side of her face. She drags her pink sword menacingly on the ground, carving a furrow into the soil. “I’m going to kill you and take over Amphibia for the toads, Wu.”

Marcy looks cool and composed. She pumps her arm to reload her crossbow. “Haven’t succeeded so far, Waybright.”

“Guys, stop—”

Sasha charges straight for Marcy, who brings her crossbow up to chest level, ready to fire. Anne squeaks in fear and lunges for Sasha’s legs, effectively tripping her. An arrow sails right over Sasha as she collapses, embedding itself into a tree. With Anne’s interference, Sasha’s sword strike also misses its mark, and Marcy stumbles away unscathed.

“Seriously,” Anne puffs, sitting on the ankles of a snarling Sasha. “It was hard enough saving Mar-Mar from near-death encounters back on Earth when we were thirteen. Do you _have_ to actively try to kill her too?”

Sasha bucks her off. It’s appalling how quickly Anne started to disobey her orders once they arrived at Amphibia. Sasha has just started to stand up when a weight crashes into her from behind, and Anne tackles her once more to the ground. 

“You bitch,” she seethes at Anne, cheek pressed into the dirt. “Whose side are you on?”

“I’ve told you before,” Anne mumbles, voice muffled in Sasha’s back. “Both of yours, and my own si—oof!”

Marcy trips over a rock and lands on top of Anne, knocking all the breath out of her and sending Sasha’s face further into the ground. 

“Anne, we appreciate your mediation, but we got this!” Marcy exclaims, lighthearted. “I’m gonna claim Amphibia for the newts, and then the war will be over!”

Sasha heaves both of her former friends off of her. “Like hell you will,” she snarls, stumbling to her feet, gripping her sword firmly with both hands. 

“Oh—oh no,” Anne falters, desperately looking between her feuding friends. “Come on… we’re _adults_ now. At least, we would be, if we were on Earth. Can’t we solve this in a mature way?”

Sasha laughs maniacally. “What could be more mature than war?”

“Sex,” Marcy answers promptly and matter-of-factly.

\---

A couple of weeks pass after the battle where Marcy voices her proposal, Sasha screams and pretends to hate the idea, and Anne realizes she’s made a mistake.

Because when Sasha and Marcy finally come to a compromise, their agreement is this: they want to fight over Anne like she’s a piece of meat, or more like a measuring stick of who’s better at sex. As a confident bisexual rebel, Sasha refuses to lose. And as a kinky queer connoisseur of internet smut, Marcy will not go down. Or, well, she will, on Anne. But not in the sense of losing to Sasha.

The three of them spend three entire days holed up in a tent, setting the terms of the competition. Actually, Anne sweats over the setting of the terms most of the time and tries to keep Sasha and Marcy on opposite ends of the room (the two of them tend to start lobbing weapons at each other or passionately making out, and in one case they crawled onto the table of negotiation and completely toppled it while simultaneously setting it on fire). 

Finally, they emerge exhausted but unanimous: Sasha will get the first move.


	2. Sasha's First Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha takes her first move. 
> 
> Contains: choking, possessiveness, praise, shower, dubcon, noncon, selective hearing
> 
> Warning: I obviously don't support nonconsensual sex. I also don't support any of the other stuff without good communication about it beforehand. In fact, it wasn't even planned to be so noncon-y,,, I guess the rape fantasy was in my head when I was writing it askjfhlkafjhd sorry

Sasha has known she’s bisexual since she was, like, twelve. Hey, girls are cute, boys are cute, her best friends Anne and Marcy are especially cute, what more does she need to know? 

Well. The answer to that is very simple. She needs to know more about the sex part. 

Because right now, she’s kind of panicking. During the whole setting of the terms thing, Anne kept saying the stupidest things Sasha has ever heard, things like “I-I’m not even gay!” and “I don’t know how to have sex, what do you want me to do!”

Like, come  _ on.  _ That’s fucking stupid. 

Not the second statement, because she’s kind of panicking too, yeah, she’s, uh, kind of, she’s definitely panicking, because the fake-ass cishet porn she watched as a dare when she was twelve does  _ not _ help in this situation. 

But the first statement? Puh-lease. Anne blushed sooo much when Sasha dared both her friends (well, Marcy’s now her nemesis, but whatever) to give her a birthday smooch when she turned thirteen. That was like, the smartest idea Sasha’s ever had.

There’s a knock on the door. Sasha jerks herself out of her thoughts and snaps, “What is it?”

A pause. “Uh… Commander, the, uh, the Ambassador is at the gates of the fortress. Should we let her in?”

Sasha takes a deep breath. This will probably be fine. Yeah. If she could make Anne kiss her when she was, like, a child, she can probably make Anne do  _ anything _ now. What Sasha wants, Sasha gets. 

“Let her in.”

“Yes, Commander.” Loud toad footsteps scurry away. 

Sasha immediately jumps up and sizes up her surroundings. Obviously, the fortress they’ve acquired is much bigger than the Toad Tower she lived in years ago. She’s got a luxurious couch, a table covered in strategic maps and commander stuff, windows with window seats, and, oh, yeah, a huge vanity mirror that she took right from Marcy’s bedroom when she led a raid on Newtopia last summer. Ha.

There’s also tons of furnishings all over the room. Sasha isn’t above letting the various busts and statues of her stroke her ego. She’s also not above that new trend where you capture lightning bugs and imprison them in glass spheres and then string them together to decorate your home with pretty lights. She considers taking them down for a second. Who knows, maybe Anne is going to start spouting sanctimonious nonsense about the little buggies having  _ feelings  _ or whatever. Then, she reconsiders. It’s a good moodsetter, especially if she decides to turn the main lights off.

Lastly, she checks herself. She’s just chilling in a lilac wrap dress, which is probably fine. Her blonde hair is all down, falling to her waist (she hasn’t gotten a haircut in, like, five years since she won’t trust any toad barbers). Sasha takes a second to frown at herself in the mirror, combing her fingers through her hair.  _ Ah, fuck it. I’m hot enough. _

There’s a soft knock at the door, followed by a cough. Sasha whirls around and hurries to the couch, arranging herself on it so that it looks like she’s been lounging idly in a state of total calmness this entire time. “Come in.”

The door slides open slowly, and Anne pokes her head in. “Um… hey, Sash.”

Sasha looks up from under her eyelashes. “Good of you to drop by.”

“Ummm… y-yeah.” Anne shuffles her feet around, looking around the room—anywhere but at Sasha.

Sasha sighs. “Come in already. And close the door behind you.”

A flush spreads down Anne’s neck, but she fumbles the door closed without question. Sasha takes the opportunity to scrutinize her… friend? Yikes.  _ What are we? _

Anne has clearly spent too long roughing it out in the wild, sleeping on the ground and in rebel villages or wherever the fuck, sprinting to every battleground Sasha frequents whenever there’s a fight. It must be a tough life, and it clearly shows. Anne looks tired. There’s leaf debris in her hair. (Sasha could have sworn that the same couple of leaves have been stuck in there for literal years.) She’s wearing some kind of weird tunic or cloth or… is that a fucking curtain? Whatever it is, it’s draped around her and tied at the waist with a literal rope. Aaand she’s barefoot. Talk about a fashion disaster.

“Wow, Anne, you don’t look so good.”

Anne turns around and scowls. “Because the little, oh,  _ war _ you’re having with Marcy is seriously messing up my sleep schedule. And thanks for noticing just now when I spent three days in front of you trying to sort out a bargain I didn’t want to even be a part of.”

Sasha sighs. “Oh, Anne. You poor, poor thing.”

Anne looks at her somewhat skeptically. Sasha sits up, crosses her legs, and leans forward so that the hem of her dress rides up her thigh, noticing the brief dip in Anne’s line of vision with delight. 

“How about… we have a sleepover, like old times? The full works?”

“Sasha…” Anne looks at her with such wariness in her eyes. “Things aren’t like old times. And I, um, we… we both know what’s going to happen, I mean, what you’re going to d—uh…”

“Oh, forget all that for a sec! Come  _ on, _ girl, you’re all gross and stuff! How about we do… hmm… oh, I know! Let’s relive the first time we hung out in Amphibia.”

“Wait, do you still have fries?” Anne asks.  _ Seduced by the food. Yesss. However… _

“Unfortunately, Marcy’s fucking army hijacked our supply lines. We don’t have any potatoes. Buuut we do have hot water! Let’s go take a shower.”

Sasha pretends not to see the hesitance in Anne’s eyes. Instead, she seizes her by the wrist and drags her into the adjoining bathroom. 

To her great annoyance, Anne really digs her heels in. She’s heavy to drag, she looks like a spooked snail, and Sasha has had enough. It’s all she can do not to snap at Anne. Instead, she states, very patiently and slowly: “Anne, sweetie. You agreed to this. You agreed it was better than continual war. You don’t want to break your promise and cause the loss of thousands of innocent little frog lives, do you?”

That seems to touch a nerve. Oops. Anne glares at her with a lip curled in way more defiance than Sasha remembers from her younger self, ripping her makeshift clothes off roughly and dropping them on the floor. 

“Ooh, you’ve grown!” Sasha coos, eyeing her up. While it’s true that she’s showered with Anne before, she hasn’t been privy to the new cleavage Anne’s developed in the last few years. It’s quite alluring. Anne crosses her arms and steps stiffly into the shower, turning on the water. 

_ Maybe I was a little too mean with that guilt-trippy threat comment. _ Sasha slips out of her own wrap and steps in after Anne, sliding her arms around her waist and resting her chin on Anne’s shoulder. 

“Anne, I’m sorry,” she murmurs into her stiffening neck. “I won’t pressure you into anything you don’t want.”

Anne turns around, her eyes wide. “R-really?”

Her face is just so pretty. Droplets of water linger on her eyelashes, and though her hair is weighed down and wet, it’s still as adorable as ever. Sasha loves that innocent expression with every fibre of her being. In fact, there’s no way she can resist.

“No,” she growls. “I don’t mean that.”

With her entire front pressed to Anne's, it's easy for her to slam her into the wall, driving her leg between Anne's thighs. 

“Sasha, please don't—”

“Anne, you don't get to call the shots anymore. You wanted me to stop fighting Marcy? Just accept that you're the price already.”

Anne whimpers and turns her head, trying to squirm and push her away. Sasha snatches her hands.

“Ugh, you know what? I spent all this time thinking about how I was gonna seduce you into dropping your whole little shy, don't-wanna-do-this, pretending to be straight kind of act. Well, that's just not gonna fly anymore.”

“I didn’t know you wanted this. I never knew.”

“Well, then, you’re fucking stupid.” Sasha lets her hands roam hungrily over a body she’s always wanted to touch. 

“Please stop,” Anne groans, as Sasha grips her hips.

“If you didn’t want this, then you wouldn’t have agreed to our terms.” Sasha can tell that Anne will give in. Anne always does. She just can’t help it. She always gets pulled into Sasha’s orbit, and this time, Sasha’s going to pull her in so close that they’ll collide and Anne will never leave.

“I agreed because I realized I could put a pause in your fighting. I hoped I could use this as a chance to talk to you each individually,” Anne insists, squirming away. “I didn’t want to actually—”

Sasha barely hears what she’s saying. It’s clear that trying to talk to Anne now is useless, so Sasha might as well tune it out. 

“Sasha—Sasha,  _ please _ —if you’ve ever cared about me at all, just please—”

Sounds like she’s begging for more. And if she isn’t, well, that’s just on Anne’s bad communication. 

Sasha leans forward to capture Anne’s lips in a kiss she’s been waiting for for much too long. She shouldn’t have been nervous at all. She’s always been a natural at taking charge. She kisses Anne hard, just to remind herself that she can, and she pulls back with Anne’s lower lip caught between her teeth, to remind Anne that Sasha always takes what she wants. As she absentmindedly combs her fingers through Anne’s hair, she does take the time to murmur as comfortingly as she can to the trembling girl in her arms: “It’s okay, Anne. I love you.”

Anne just stares at her with glistening eyes, a helpless, stricken expression on her face. Sasha hasn’t seen anything quite as beautiful ever before. She brings her thumb up to wipe away the tear that creeps out the corner of Anne’s eye and mingles with the rest of the warm water running down her body. 

Sasha wrestles between her need to have Anne writhing and gasping underneath her in her own bed and her desire to touch and take  _ now _ . Like, as a bisexual, she can’t simply  _ choose _ . But her first turn is, as agreed, only supposed to take an hour, and she’s not sure if she can resist spending all of it in the shower if she starts now. Sex is supposed to be in the bed, so it would probably be easier, right?

What would Marcy do? Ugh. Stupid contest, making things stressful. Seriously, what would Marcy do, though?

Sasha stares into Anne’s eyes, searching for an answer there. She does not get one. Ah, fuck it.

“Let’s see if you’re clean yet,” Sasha says, sliding her hands down Anne’s neck, over her shoulders and her sides, and down to dip between her legs. Sasha’s eyes widen as her fingers swipe through something moist, but with a slight give, something that definitely isn’t just water. She smiles.  _ So Anne really does like it. Secretly. _

Watching Anne’s face carefully, Sasha dips a finger inside shallowly, gently cupping her at the same time. Anne visibly swallows.  _ Okay, a little more. _

She sinks a single knuckle inside Anne and tugs gently, dragging the rest of her hand up to brush smoothly past Anne’s clit, in a way that she’s come to love during her own self-experimentation. To her utmost delight, she’s rewarded with a soft moan. 

A really, really good idea springs into Sasha’s mind. Sometimes, her genius is almost frightening. If Anne is so unwilling about sex, what could be sweeter than reducing her to a pile of moans begging for Sasha to finish her? 

“Good girl,” Sasha murmurs, repeating the same move. This time, a visible shudder passes through Anne, and her arms circle around Sasha’s waist uncertainly. 

“You’re allowed to touch,” Sasha confirms. “In fact, that’s not a request. Hold me. Now.” 

Anne shivers again as she obeys, and Sasha narrows her eyes.  _ Why? _

A possibility occurs to her. She wraps Anne in a hug, crushing their bodies together. 

“I’m so glad you’ve decided to go along with this,” Sasha purrs into her ear. She pauses to nibble at Anne’s earlobe. “You’re  _ mine  _ now.”

Anne lets out a flustered whine, buries her face in Sasha’s shoulder, and clenches hard on Sasha’s thigh.  _ Knew it. She always had a thing for following my orders anyway.  _

This clearly eases the seduction. 

“Aww, I knew it wouldn’t take much for me to win you over,” Sasha teases, gripping the back of Anne’s thigh with her left hand while she slips the other between their bodies, rubbing lightly. “You’ve practically always belonged to me anyway.”

Anne moans. She gently nudges Sasha’s hand a little lower and to the left.

“That’s my girl,” Sasha praises, just for Anne to grind herself down again. She brings her left hand up to slam Anne’s shoulders into the wall. As soon as she does, Anne blinks and ducks her face, looking away from her heated gaze. 

“No, no,” Sasha insists, her voice turning hard. She tilts Anne’s chin up with her fingertips, then switches her grip so that her thumb and forefinger stretch around just beneath Anne’s jaw, choking her into the wall. “Look at me so you know exactly who it is who makes you feel this way.”

To her surprise, instead of gasping and begging to be released, Anne’s breathing quickens, coming fast and shallow, she grips Sasha’s waist so hard that her nails dig in, and she presses her sex hard against Sasha’s leg, chasing the touch of her fingers. Sasha peers more closely at her face. Anne’s pupils are dilated, and her mouth hangs open in a gasp. 

“You’re enjoying this,” Sasha says in disbelief, half releasing her.

“Don’t stop,” Anne rasps. “I’m—I’m close.”

Her nails release and scratch lightly up Sasha’s back before raking ferociously back down. Maybe the hot water is making her extra sensitive, but the scratches feel agonizingly white-hot and mind-numbingly sexy to Sasha. She tries to control the trembling in her own shoulders at the intense ache of the scratches on her back, and when she turns her head quickly to check, she sees her pale skin covered in long, dully red marks. That’s… hot. And distracting. In fact, it’s so distracting that she almost forgets her plan. Almost.

Sasha steps back, throwing Anne off of her. 

“No—” Anne starts, at first reaching for Sasha, then desperately doubling over and rubbing at herself. She straightens up when she realizes her efforts are futile. “No—Sasha, I was so close!”

“Well, well,” Sasha smirks, crossing her arms under her breasts. “Look who wants to come  _ now, _ after all the ‘oh nooo, I don’t want this because I’m straight’ crap!”

Anne flushes. “I didn’t—I didn’t say I was straight for sure.”

“Of course you aren’t,” Sasha scoffs. Without even turning around, she switches the water spout off behind her. 

“Sasha… I…”

“Shut up.”

Anne really does stop talking, her chest rising and falling heavily as she wets her lips and waits. This is nice. Instant obedience, just like the old days. Sasha could get used to this. 

“Bed. Now.”

Sasha doesn’t even have to snatch her by the wrist to know that Anne’s pulse must be racing.

***

Sasha can’t stop smiling. She tries to control it, stop herself from grinning stupidly, but there’s this wild relief and euphoria rising in her chest, because maybe she really was scared for a few minutes there that Anne might actually hate her. But no, she’s right, because she’s always right. And Anne is  _ hers _ now. 

She can’t help it. They’re in her bedroom now, and there’s no one but the two of them, and Sasha laughs brightly as she gives Anne a little push, knocking her backwards into the bed. 

“I always liked seeing you in  _ my _ bed,” Sasha teases, climbing over Anne’s body to straddle her, sit back, and admire her. “You look like you belong here.”

Anne reaches for her uncertainly. Sasha slaps her hand down. “No. You don’t do anything, Anne. Just lie there and look pretty.”

“Oh,” Anne says, but there’s a breathy quality to it that Sasha really,  _ really  _ likes. 

“Let me use you,” she breathes, bending down to trail kisses across Anne’s collarbones. Of course, Sasha’s the one trying to impress Anne enough so that she can win. But these words seem to fuel her purpose, as Anne squirms and whimpers, tilting her head back and spreading her legs automatically.

Sasha’s fingers find their way between them once more. Anne is absolutely dripping, from mostly her words alone. The thought of that sends such a sheer power rush to Sasha’s head that she can’t even speak for a moment, simply sliding her fingers around and playing with her.

Anne inhales sharply, closes her eyes, and thrusts her hips into Sasha’s touch, impaling herself on her fingers and desperately fisting the covers beneath her. “Please…”

“Oh, you don’t get to do that,” Sasha snarls, bending close over her. “Look at me.”

Anne opens her eyes obediently, but as Sasha starts ravaging her with hard strokes of her fingers, her eyes flutter shut again.

“Look at me!” Sasha snaps, slapping her across the face with the back of her other hand. 

Although Anne’s head snaps to the side, she’s quick to recover, gazing tearfully back into Sasha’s face. Her breath shaky, she says, “That hurt.”

“I know,” Sasha says, stroking her face tenderly while her right hand explores Anne’s insides with violent sweeps. “It’s okay. I love you. I won’t hurt you again, as long as you do what I say.”

“Ah,” Anne exhales, and arches into Sasha’s touch. “Yes, ma’am.”

Sasha laughs and kisses her softly, a chaste brush of their lips to contrast with Anne’s fervent panting and Sasha’s relentless fucking.

“Tell me you’re mine,” Sasha says. Her lips are so close to Anne’s that every word comes out practically spoken into her mouth. “Say it.”

“Sasha,” Anne moans, drawing her name out. “I’m yours. Mm—yes, Sasha, Sasha, don’t stop, please, I’m yours, I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours Sasha—”

A sort of dizzy delight settles over Sasha. There’s something about hearing her name  _ like that _ from Anne’s lips, knowing the claim she has over Anne, mind, body and soul, that satisfies her in a way she didn’t know she needed to be satisfied. It’s enough to make her head spin, enough to fill her with a savage joy in seeing the tears leak out of Anne’s beautiful eyes as she reaches down to choke her again, whispering, “yes, I own you, and don’t forget that, your pleasure is in my hands, your  _ life _ is in my hands, I’ll control when you breathe and when you come” while Anne listens wide-eyed, hanging on to Sasha’s every word like she worships them, frantically rutting against Sasha’s hand until she’s coming all over it, sobbing and choking. 

Sasha lets her go, swooping down instead to envelop her in a full-bodied hug, stroking the back of her neck gently and smoothing her still-damp hair back. “Good girl,” she murmurs soothingly. “You did so well. I’ve got you.”

  
As Anne hiccups and buries her face in Sasha’s chest, trembling all over, Sasha looks dramatically out of the window, dramatically thinking to herself.  _ That’s a pretty unbeatable first time. Just try to top that, Marcy. You can’t. She’s mine now.  _


	3. Intermission: Anne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne ruminates.

The train is loud. It’s a toad train, and they seem to feel the need to broadcast their superiority across the land with the sheer loudness of their stupid frogging train.

Anne can feel it, the thumping and rumbling of the train inside her chest, even as she sits inside, folded up with her face in her knees, hugging herself. 

She wants to cry, mostly because she didn’t get to do what she wanted. What she was supposed to. _You had one job, Boonchuy,_ she thinks angrily to herself. _Just getting Sasha to consider backing down and ending the war, and you didn’t even get to bring it up._

She didn’t think Sasha would actually force herself on her. It happened, though. And, weirdly enough, she feels… numb about it. Not even numb in a “oh my frog that was the worst thing ever and my brain is detaching me to keep me safe” kind of way. No, numb isn’t the right word. She feels… neutral about it. No, that’s not it either. 

It was really good. She can’t deny that. And Anne has been trying to avoid thinking about what this means, about herself, about Sasha, about herself and Sasha, throughout the entire journey so far. 

What she’s neutral about, she decides, is the forcing part. In theory, she’s probably supposed to feel worse about it than she does. But Sasha is her _friend,_ they’ve known each other forever, and this isn’t the first time Sasha has done something that kind of… crossed a couple of lines. It’s just her. It’s just normal.

She legitimately didn’t know Sasha—or, probably both of them—actually wanted her in that way. She’d assumed, or hoped, they were mostly messing around. There's nothing she can do about it, though.

So, Anne goes back to scheming about ending the war. Marcy is clearly less aggressive. Marcy would never have the guts to look Anne in the eye and cow her into submission. Marcy doesn’t have the courage to force herself on Anne.

All she has to do, then, is enter the Newtopian fortress, incapacitate Marcy, and then they’ll be able to actually talk about the war and get somewhere. There is no way she’s going to let herself mess up this time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sad reminder that most irl cases of rape occur between people who know each other  
> gentle reminder that victims of sexual assault process feelings in different ways, and it is okay not to share the same experience that mainstream media depicts


	4. Marcy's First Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne never gets the chance to incapacitate Marcy, because Marcy incapacitates her first.
> 
> Contains: somnophilia, Marcy being a dork, dubcon, discussion of kinks, bondage, blindfold, degradation (a little bit), sexual slavery / concubine fantasy (kind of?)
> 
> Warning: the BDSM etiquette in this chapter is... better than the Sasha chapter, I think, but still not great. Remember to communicate if doing this irl!

Marcy isn’t stupid. 

Yeah, maybe she’s been weirdly flammable ever since she got to Amphibia. Yeah, maybe deep down, she knows she’s perpetuating an antiquated aristocracy. But that’s definitely better than the fascist regime that Sasha is sure to erect, and Anne’s naive anarchist ideologies will lead to far more suffering than if they both just give in, let her restore the status quo, and gradually make change from the inside.

The other thing that Marcy isn’t stupid about is the contest. On principle alone, Sasha might actually win with her Big Strap Energy and absolute refusal to ever lose or back down from a situation, ever. However, Sasha is sloppy. Sasha doesn’t  _ think, _ she just  _ does. _

If Sasha were a Creatures & Caverns character, her Ability Score balance would probably be really strong in Charisma, then Wisdom, with average scores in Strength, Dexterity, and Constitution, and not a lot of Intelligence. She’d probably play—heck, she probably  _ has _ been playing in Amphibia so far—like a Charismatic Barbarian, always getting herself into bad situations then relying on her skills and personal charm to get herself out. 

Marcy plays smarter. She’s been playing like a Rogue Ranger, with strong Intelligence and Dexterity scores, and okayish everything else. She’s way more balanced than Sasha though, which is an obvious advantage. 

Marcy reminds herself not to underestimate her former friend. During the setting of the terms, she purposefully provoked slash enticed Sasha into making out with her, just to see what she’s up against. Sasha’s… pretty good. As soon as their lips touched, Marcy was all like, daaaamn. Forgot how electrifying Sasha was. How easy it is to get sucked in with her, start obsessing over her when you get too close. 

For a moment, during that kiss, she thought about giving up the whole damn war just to be with Sasha again. But she’s grown. She’s changed. Sasha’s always thought she was stupid in some ways. Anne’s always been so protective of her, treated her like a child. 

Marcy  _ needs _ to prove her worth, that she’s just as good enough, that she doesn’t deserve to be left behind, that she’s strong and stubborn enough to actually be the one coming out on top. It’s already bad enough that Sasha and Anne were friends before she came along. But all that homoerotic tension between the two in their earlier years in Amphibia, while Marcy stayed holed up in Newtopia, searching for a way home? That’s just unfair. She used to cry about it, about Anne leaving her. That day was a turning point, the day she gave up on trying to leave Amphibia and embraced her new role instead. 

She sighs. This happens every single time, getting mired in her thoughts, rehashing the past over and over and over again. Marcy recognizes it’s unhealthy. She makes a note of it in the journal log she’s been keeping of her unhealthy behavior.

Also in the journal is the information she’s been gathering for the contest. She doesn’t drip sex appeal like Sasha. Where Sasha is all curves and confidence, Marcy’s kind of bony. A newt once told her she had bony shoulders. A different newt once asked her why she wasn’t as full-bodied as Sasha since they were the same species, and Marcy had snapped back, “I dunno, I’m a skinny Asian nerd.” 

That pretty much sums up her sex appeal, or lack thereof. 

She has a lot of intel on Sasha in her journal though. It’s pretty obvious that Sasha has a little domination thing going on. She’s also really good at empathizing, but really bad at stopping herself from doing what she wants. Marcy wouldn’t be surprised if Sasha used force with Anne, which could probably go either really badly, meaning Marcy can swoop in and let Anne cry in her arms and win, or really well, meaning Sasha has staked an initial claim on Anne and now Marcy’s fucked. 

Sasha loves her power trips. She probably has a hell of a god complex, which could develop into a kink for being worshipped. Sasha also seems like a pillow princess. Marcy wouldn’t be surprised if Sasha would secretly enjoy getting wrecked. All that control can’t be good for her stress levels; girl’s gotta need to give it up and take it sometimes. Hm, what else? Sasha stole a mirror of hers a while back. Mirror kink? She seems okay with violence. Does that apply at all in the bedroom? She’s really touchy-feely, always has been, and her greatest power is her voice. Does Anne have a voice kink?

Marcy stares down, frustrated, at the entire page listing Sasha’s known kinks and theorizing on the rest. The page opposite it is titled “Anne???” and is completely blank. Frog damn it.

There’s no way to win this if she knows everything about Sasha but nothing about Anne. There’s no way to win this if she lets Anne march into her room and start saying things, because they’re going to fall into Friendship Mode way too easily, and then she’ll be way too scared to make a move on Anne. 

If Anne were a C&C character, she’d have a lot of Constitution, then Strength, then Charisma, then everything else average. Chances are, Anne is going to try talking her out of fighting, and physically overpower her if she refuses to listen.

Taking into account every factor she’s thought of, Marcy decides on a single best solution. 

She throws open her bedroom window, leans out, and hollers, “Guards! When the Ambassador arrives, shoot her with a tranquilizer. Don’t bring her to my room until you’re completely positive she’s out cold!”

  
  


***

Marcy perches at the foot of her bed, pajama-clad knees to her chest, sitting basically like L from Death Note, one of the coolest but also most mainstream anime series, with like, the darkest yaoi fanfiction.

She perches there, looking at Anne. Yes. Anne is in her bed. That is a fact she is still trying to come to terms with. 

More facts she’s coming to terms with: 

Anne is naked, because Marcy stripped her down with her own hands. The clothes she was wearing, which were Sasha’s clothes, were nearly tossed out the window in disgust, but on Marcy’s second thought, she shoved them deep in her closet so that she can recover them after Anne’s gone, so she can sleep with them and inhale Sasha’s scent and masturbate to it when she’s really, really desperate for her former friend.

Anne is tied up, a black sash around each wrist and ankle splaying her out across Marcy’s bed, each limb stretched to a bedpost. She’s done this for two reasons, to prevent Anne from fighting back, and because she thought it would look hot. Marcy’s right. It looks very hot.  _ I bet Sasha’s never seen anything this pretty. _

Anne is blindfolded with a sleep mask. Hopefully, if Anne can’t see her, Marcy will feel a bit better, bold enough to do the things she has to do, the things she wants to do. It’ll also disorient Anne when she wakes up, hopefully preventing her from managing an escape. 

Marcy takes a deep breath. She can toootally do this. Like, she’s read  _ fanfiction. _ It wasn’t all One Direction self-insert slave fanfiction either. She’s even read some  _ accurate  _ fanfiction, which automatically makes her more knowledgeable than Sasha. Reminding herself that Anne should be out cold completely, she lets her hand drift over Anne’s ankle. Her skin is warm and soft and alive. Okay, of course she’s  _ alive, _ Marcy didn’t kill her or anything. There’s just no other way for her to describe how it feels, though. 

She slides her hand up Anne’s calf.  _ Yeah.  _ The more Marcy touches her, feels the smooth texture of her skin, the firmness of her athletic legs, the more she can’t help but shiver at the fact that her forever crush is helpless and willing in her bed— _ hers for the taking. _ She lowers her head and presses her cheek to Anne’s thigh. It’s nice.

After a while, her hands start to wander, kneading gently at Anne’s thighs. She turns her head and presses her nose to Anne’s skin, inhaling deeply. Is that weird? Probably. Sniffing people was considered hella weird in the human world. Marcy got bullied for it. Anne smells good, though. Really good. 

Marcy contemplates what to do next. Anne will probably wake up soon, and then time will officially start. True, there’s no judge really tracking it, but it’s a matter of principle. Besides, she does need to make certain preparations to ensure that Anne wakes up pliant and comfortable and less likely to chew her out for attacking her.

She crawls up Anne’s body, her heart fluttering nervously in her throat. Anne’s chest rises and falls gently, her face peaceful and angelic. Her face is just. So. Pretty. Marcy’s throat constricts with how much she… she loves her. 

With a sigh, she leans forward carefully, laying her head in the crook of Anne’s neck. She can kind of pretend that this is all over, that Anne is hers now and they’re ruling Newtopia together and this is just a lazy weekend for them—oh, what a beautiful fantasy—and Sasha… well, thinking about Sasha gives Marcy an uncomfortable, bittersweet pang tinged with annoyance. So she won’t think about her for now. 

Instead, she snuggles closer to Anne, lying on top of her. The fabric of Marcy’s pajama shirt is a barrier between their skin, so she carefully rises to take it off before curling back into Anne, their skin pressed deliciously together. Marcy sighs. It’s all on her now. She’s gotta do things, and Anne’s gotta like them. Marcy sighs again and wrinkles her nose for no reason at all.

Anne’s left breast is soft and squishy-looking, her areola large and flat. Marcy pokes it. She pokes it again. With the tip of her finger, she teases it, tracing circles around it until the nipple is dark and pointed. 

Anne mumbles a bit in her sleep.  _ Great. I’m running out of time. _

Sighing, Marcy slides off of her friend and kneels on the bedspace between her legs. Sasha probably hasn’t licked her yet. And even if she did, she’d probably value the intensity of the climax more than the endless want that comes from teasing and denial, the desperation of not enough pressure. Marcy knows just how to be not-like-Sasha. 

She tucks her feet under her bottom and leans forward like she’s praying, spreading Anne’s legs a bit further and burying her face between them. The angle involves tilting her head a little further back, since Anne isn’t awake to help her, but Marcy doesn’t mind. It’s not that bad. In fact, it’s quite good. Great, actually. 

Anne tastes good. Marcy starts with long, flat licks to gather up the surprising amount of moisture there. Anne doesn’t taste fanfiction-good, like cream or whatever weird analogies Marcy actually maybe embarrassingly sort of thought were real, but it’s… interesting. And good. She’s so swollen and yielding that Marcy’s tongue slips inside with ease. The flavor is hard to pin down. This is very important to Marcy, however, as she’s already trying to figure out how to describe the experience in the journal and alter her previous assumptions. 

First of all, it’s a lot more… wet than she expected. She really didn’t think half of her face would get covered in Anne’s slick, but it is. Yeah, it’s messy, but in a way that’s kind of hot. It smells great, kind of musky, little bit tangy, definitely giving off vibes of  _ this is a human body and a raw carnal physical experience. _ The tang extends to the taste, too. It’s like… water? Jello? Oh, man, weird metaphor, probably worse than fanfiction—with a slight aftertaste. Really, it mostly just tastes like how  _ wet _ would taste if it were a flavor.

In fact, it’s interesting that Anne’s body is producing so much even while she’s out. Automatic defense—no, there’s nothing to defend, it’s just  _ Marcy _ . She’s not, not  _ hurting _ Anne or anything. Automatic mechanism? For the thousandth time, Marcy wishes she could Google something.

_ These are such unsexy thoughts. What are sexy thoughts supposed to be like? Quick, pretend to be Sasha! Umm… hrrm… fucking… tiddies... sexy. Sexy… fucking. OwO… wait, NO-wO. Sasha doesn’t OwO. C-cock? Uhh… cum? Come? I’ve seen it spelled both ways before. WHAT IS THE REAL TRUTH? Why has the English language devolved to the point where colloquialisms are hotly debated and labels take precedence over meaning? _

Marcy decides to give up thinking as a bad job. Sometimes, she’s really, really bad at thinking, especially thinking the right thoughts at the right times. 

She’s much better at eating out her best friend. 

At some point, Anne begins to stir: soft moans and hums of delight fall from her lips, she thrusts her hips weakly, and her thighs start clenching under Marcy’s light grip. 

Marcy continues at the same tortuous pace, never applying enough pressure to give her relief, never stopping to give her relief. In the brief pauses when Marcy surfaces to check on her, she can see Anne tossing her head, biting her bottom lip and straining against her bonds. 

Finally—“Harder,” Anne begs. 

Marcy smirks.  _ Boom! Gottem.  _

“Please, more,” Anne continues. “Sasha…”

Marcy stops, suddenly feeling very bad inside. “At least you could get my name right,” she snaps, voice cold. 

Anne’s entire body stills. As she wipes off her face with her wrist, Marcy can practically see the confused calculating math meme from that Brazilian soap opera with the blonde woman calculating the volume of a cone for no reason superimposed on Anne’s face. 

And three… two… one… “ _ Marcy?! _ ”

And there’s the surprised pikachu meme.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Marcy says, somewhat bitterly.

“Oh,” Anne replies.

“Disappointed I’m not Sasha?” Marcy hardly dares to listen to the answer. The sick pounding of her pulse in her head is so loud that she’s terrified of what she might or might not hear. 

Anne visibly flinches. “No, no, not at all!” she protests. “I thought—I just thought… only Sasha would take advantage of me while I was sleeping.”

That’s somehow even worse for Marcy to hear. And also logically unsound. As Anne gingerly shifts and tests the strength of her bonds, Marcy carefully constructs an answer in her head that will express exactly what she wants to. And if Anne doesn’t realize Marcy ordered newts to knock her out with a tranquilizer gun, she definitely won’t be revealing that. 

“Anne, by negotiating and then agreeing to a deal with me and Sasha, you willingly forfeited your right to consent for the remainder of the contest, until you come to a decision about who wins. If you don’t decide on a winner, you consent to being sexually used however. We literally went over this, and you agreed. Your exact words, in fact, were: ‘Psssh. Yeah, of course I agree! You guys need to stoppp. This is fine!’ The three of us literally signed a document.”

“Well—” Anne falters. “Well, maybe I didn’t mean it, because I thought you were joking, and that I could talk to you for once!”

Marcy sighs. “We were planning out all the ways we were going to fuck you for  _ three days, _ Anne. I—okay, anyway. Sasha and I didn’t agree to any talking. We don’t  _ want _ to talk. My relationship with Sasha is so destroyed at this point that talking to her won’t do any good, and I’m never talking to her, ever again! I didn’t want to talk to you, either, because I knew you’d try to talk me out of it, or try to get me to talk to her, like you’re trying to do right now! So stop!”

Anne pauses, shifting her thighs.

“Bad!” Marcy exclaims, slapping Anne on her right thigh. “Stop trying to get out of the bondage I worked super hard on!”

Anne sighs and relaxes her body, letting her shoulders slump into Marcy’s mattress. “Well,  _ maybe, _ I didn’t ask you to do that!”

Marcy pauses. They’re both breathing heavily, probably from the kinda sorta argument, maybe also because the room smells like sex. Marcy refocuses. Her main goal is to figure out what Anne likes, so she can beat Sasha. 

“I know you didn’t ask me to tie you up,” Marcy begins cautiously. “But… do you like it?”

She traces her fingers up Anne’s leg, pausing to trail her nails lightly over her flank. Anne shivers slightly, which is a good sign. Watching her reaction carefully, Marcy leans forward, using her other hand to trace her stomach at the same time. Anne bucks her hips, trying to shift that hand lower. 

“Do you like not being able to move much?” Marcy asks softly. “Not being able to touch me back or show me exactly where you need me?”

A strangled whimper escapes Anne’s throat, and she begins thrashing against her bindings in earnest. Marcy scoots back. She won’t get far. 

“Do you like not being able to see me? Not being able to see anything?”

The beginnings of a plan, no, a strategy, creep into Marcy’s mind. Trying really hard not to signal her position on the bed, she shifts her weight so that she’s as close to Anne’s ear as she can get. 

“Do you like not knowing what’s going to happen next?” 

Anne startles from her unexpectedly close voice, and when Marcy follows that up by poking her chest, she squeaks, a blush spreading down the visible part of her face. 

“Okay, okay!” Anne protests, writhing. “I really like that! All of that! Shut up!”

Marcy smiles.  _ Lots of kinks. Yesss. I can work with this.  _ “Good girl.” 

Anne sucks in a deep breath at that.  _ Theory confirmed. She has a thing for specific kinds of talk. Time to… stretch that experiment out a bit. _

“Ohhh,” Marcy says, raising her eyebrows and batting her eyelashes suggestively even though Anne obviously can’t see that. “You like that, hm? Did Sasha call you her  _ good girl _ while she was fucking you?”

Anne squirms, the muscles in her thighs clenching and relaxing as she unsuccessfully strains to grind herself on the sheets.  _ A little more, then. _

“You pretended not to want us for so long, Anne. I guess I should’ve known… you didn’t want us to find out what a  _ slut _ you are. You’re so irrationally influenced by sex, I bet I could get you to act out all of my dirtiest fantasies for the tiniest bit of praise.”

The degradation is really the make or break moment. Marcy’s pretty sure Anne at least kind of feels into it, but she’s nevertheless nervously chewing on her lip, looking for signs that Anne’s about to freak out. It’s not helped by the fact that she’s gone quiet, biting hard on her lower lip. But she’s shaking, her thighs trembling and hips tilted off the bed.

“Marcy,  _ please, _ ” she begs, and that’s possibly the most amazing thing Marcy has ever heard. “Please touch me.”

“Whatever you say,” Marcy shrugs, and begins idly trailing her fingers lightly all over Anne’s body, from the insides of her wrists down over her collarbones and in a straight line down her sternum, stopping right above her pelvis to go back up. 

Anne groans. Marcy ignores this.

“You know what I kind of want to do?”

“What,” Anne says warily.

“Keep you,” Marcy says, dreamy and adoring as she plops herself beside Anne and props her chin up with one hand. She splays her right hand possessively over Anne’s ribcage. “You know, I could just keep you tied up here, so you couldn’t leave me alone here like you did when we were thirteen.”

“Marcy, I’m s—”

Marcy has no intention of lingering on topics that make her hurt, so she keeps talking over Anne.

“Sasha couldn’t storm Newtopia for five years; she’d never get you back. You could forget about the frogs. You could just stay in my bed… forever…”

“Marce, there’s too much I need to do.”

“Shh,” Marcy says, and leans up to kiss Anne, her heart fluttering despite the simplicity and shortness of the kiss. “Just imagine.”

Anne’s shoulders relax. “Okay.”

“Imagine not having to worry about anything. Just… just forget about the outside world completely. It’s just you, and me, and this room. You can stay here all day, and all you have to think about is sleeping and feeling good.”

Anne shivers. “That does sound… nice. Relaxing.” 

“Mhmm,” Marcy agrees, and lets her hand slip down between Anne’s thighs, rubbing softly. “What if you didn’t even need to know how to think? Just… stay in my bed, keep it warm for me when I come back from work at night. Be my official bedwarmer.”

“Yeahhh,” Anne says, but it’s more of a shuddering moan.

“Keep the blindfold on, because you don’t need to see, either. Maybe I’ll leave you helpless here for days, letting you drift in and out of sleep without knowing what time it is. Maybe only hours will have passed. You’ll lose all sense of space and time, and soon all you’ll know is me. Waking up to my tongue on you the way you did today, or waking up needy and begging to be touched—you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Anne doesn’t reply, except for a long, throaty moan as she tries to get more friction from Marcy’s fingers. After a few minutes, she groans, “How do you expect to win me if you’re not even going to let me come?”

Marcy stops, grabs the crossbow she keeps on her bedside table as well as her journal, and retrieves the arrow tipped with tranquilizer. “I’ll let you if you help me make a list of every sexual thing you’re into, so that I know what you like.”

Anne blushes. “That’s very… nice of you?”

“I love you,” Marcy replies. “Are you ready?”

“To… list?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, uh, sure. Uhh…”

Marcy smiles. “Would it help if I prompted you?”

Anne nods.  _ Perfect opportunity. _

Marcy holds the tranquilizing arrow carefully, like a pencil, between her thumb and forefinger. “First one… how do you feel about scratches?”

She scratches her nails down Anne’s thigh, opening a shallow cut with the arrow at the same time. Without a full dose of the tranquilizer, Anne will take a little longer to fall asleep. 

Anne inhales sharply. “G-good,” she stutters. “Very good.”

Marcy makes a note on the Anne page of the journal. “Good girl. How about… more pain? Being slapped?”

Anne nods feverishly. 

As Marcy continues making notes, she smiles a little guiltily. Of course, she has no intention of finishing Anne. It’s better, actually, to leave them wanting. Once Anne falls asleep, she’ll wrap Anne in some of her own clothes, tie her loosely and leave her blindfolded, and send her back to Sasha. The guards escorting Anne have orders, too, to stab her GENTLY with more tranquilizer every time she wakes up. Hopefully, with the conversation they had about Marcy’s biggest fantasy, Anne will be so woozy that she’ll think she’s still with her instead of Sasha. Ha. See how much Sasha will like being called a different name. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kajdhflkhafjsdfhask you're welcome,,, idk what possessed me to update this so much recently but I hope you all like it!!!! :D


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